


(but most of all) nothing couldn't be solved

by nightshifted



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/nightshifted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wow, were you friends?" / Quinn allows a shadow of a smile. "Sort of."</p>
            </blockquote>





	(but most of all) nothing couldn't be solved

Teaching grade school was never Quinn's dream, but now, to ask her to do anything else would be unthinkable.

At twenty-five, she's built a life for herself in New York City after graduating from Yale with a major in drama and a minor in management three years ago. Performing, she will always adore, but she discovers a passion for mentoring, for fostering and nurturing raw talent. She works as a booking agent, using that sharp, head Cheerio tongue to get the job done. Her eye for talent and her sheer ability to talk her way through anything has earned her a reputation in the industry. That pays the bills.

But it's the twice-weekly drama classes she teaches at a primary school that drives her. Quinn had landed the job there by chance; the mother of one of her clients taught at the school, noticed her determination and asked her to come in as a guest speaker. She'd been a hit with the kids and had been offered a part-time position to start a drama club after school hours. The flexibility of her schedule had allowed her to accept, and Quinn hasn't looked back since. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons become her escape from her cutthroat world.

It's the comfort of a roomful of impressionable children who look up to and admire her unconditionally, and yeah, sometimes it reminds her of the feeling she'd had when she'd gone after Beth, but she's older now, in a better headspace. Having the privilege to instill a love and appreciation of the arts to children who might otherwise never have the opportunity is rewarding in itself, but the reminder to herself to never lose that part of her might be the most important part.

Quinn hasn't seen Rachel in years, not since the summer after graduation. Geographically, they'd spent their college years close to each other, and the years after even closer, but Quinn can't recall a single line of direct communication exchanged between them. They'd both been busy people, Quinn understands that, and high school had been a tough time for both of them, individually and as tentative friends. Still, Quinn has watched from afar as Rachel reached success in the Broadway circles, and it's strangely satisfying to know that despite the adversity Rachel has faced, some from Quinn's own hands, she's finally made it.

But all of the pride in Rachel's accomplishments doesn't erase the fact that Quinn is about five seconds away from passing out from nerves.

"Miss Quinn?" a voice pipes up from the front row. "Are you okay?"

Quinn reminds herself to breathe. "Yes, Annie, I'm fine. Finish up your work before Rachel Berry gets here, okay?" Even saying her name makes the blood drain from Quinn's face.

The little girl bites her lip but doesn't appear all that enticed by the team project anymore. "How'd you even get Rachel Berry to come to our dinky little school anyway? My mom says she's a superstar. She wants me to get an autograph."

It'd been as simple as making a phone call to Rachel's agent and dropping her name and number and explaining the situation – that she was an old… friend, and that she'd love if Rachel could come in and spend a little time with the kids, as they were doing a unit on Broadway. Rachel's agent had gotten back to her fairly quickly, and the entire thing had been arranged over the phone. Rachel would visit for an hour on one of Quinn's Thursday classes.

Quinn clears her throat. "We went to high school together in Ohio," she finally replies. "We were… we knew each other."

Annie's eyes widen. "Wow, were you friends?"

Quinn allows a shadow of a smile. "Sort of."

"What was Rachel Berry like in high school?" someone else asks, and before long, the entire room has erupted in questions about Rachel – what she likes to eat, what her favorite color is, and does she like video games?

Quinn manages to calm the classroom down, then glances anxiously at the door. Rachel isn't due for another half hour, and her kids don't appear to have the attention span to finish their classwork, so Quinn lets them push their desks against the walls of the classroom and sit cross-legged on the floor. After grabbing her wallet from her bag, she joins them. Carefully, she pulls a small photo out of her wallet and starts to pass it around.

"I was in Glee Club with Rachel," Quinn explains, smiling softly as the children oohed and aahed over the tiny photograph. "Be gentle."

"What's Glee Club?"

"It's kind of like our drama club, but instead of putting together plays, we sang and danced." Quinn smiles at the memory. "That picture was taken in my last year of high school, after we won Nationals on the power of Rachel's solo."

"Wow…"

"Rachel was—she was destined to be a star," Quinn went on. "She was the best singer we had, and she always worked the hardest and wanted it the most. When she performed, she was more beautiful than anyone else in the entire world."

Years of self-discovery and maturity have allowed Quinn to finally openly admit that. Someone hands her back her photograph, which she tucks carefully back into her wallet.

"Miss Quinn, are you still friends with Rachel Berry?"

Quinn hesitates on that one, unsure. She'd like to say yes, because the two of them had left Ohio on good terms, and the very fact that Rachel had been willing to do her the favor of making an appearance here should affirm that they are, in fact, still friends. But the truth is, they haven't spoken in nearly seven years, and where Rachel is concerned, Quinn knows that terms like 'friendship' will always be equivocal and confusing.

As she's trying to stumble through a response, a voice behind her answers clearly, "Of course we are."

Quinn spins around, and there Rachel stands, in a simple black top and blue jeans, hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She looks just like the girl Quinn remembers from high school, only older and more confident but still impossibly gorgeous. The kids have fallen dead silent, star-struck. Quinn clamors to her feet, heart pounding in her chest.

"Rachel, hi. We were just—"

"Talking about me," Rachel supplies with an easy laugh as she approaches. "I overheard."

Quinn flushes, but before she has a chance to apologize, Rachel has made her way to the front of the classroom and has started to introduce herself to the kids. Quinn tries to pull up a chair and sit in the audience, but Rachel has her arrange to place two chairs in the front so that they can sit together instead.

Rachel Berry, Broadway star who has been pinned as a bit of a diva by the media, spends the next hour answering questions from seven-year-olds about vegan pizza and Mario Kart. Quinn sits quietly beside her, watching Rachel smile and laugh and talk openly about her life. Quinn wonders where she'd be if Rachel was never a part of her high school life.

Suddenly, Quinn is filled with an immense need to know just how Rachel had gone from the talented but overbearing high school senior to being a star on Broadway. She wants to know about the successes, the lucky breaks, the days when Rachel felt like the top of the world. She wants to know about the setbacks, the obstacles, the nights when Rachel cried herself to sleep. An inexplicable sadness washes over Quinn at the realization that she would never get a chance to be a part of that section of Rachel's life, and it dawns on her how much she'd missed getting to see Rachel every day, how lucky she'd been to get to hear Rachel sing every week.

Quinn wants, more than anything, to be a part of Rachel's life again.

Quinn glances at the wall clock and realizes that her time with Rachel is nearly up. She waits for Rachel to finish answering the current question – something about alligators – before cutting in.

"Okay, one last question for Rachel, and then we have to wrap it up."

Annie's hand shoots straight up into the air. Rachel smiles and calls on her.

"Miss Rachel, what's your favorite song?"

Rachel glances briefly at Quinn with soft eyes. "Well, Annie, do you know what mash-ups are?" When the little girl shakes her head, Rachel explains, "Mash-ups are when you take two songs and mash them together into one song. Our Glee Club did a lot of mash-ups. Once, I sang one with Miss Quinn."

Immediately, twenty-five sets of eyes turn to Quinn, and her stomach plummets at the memory. She swallows hard.

"We did a mash-up of _I Feel Pretty_ from West Side Story and TLC's _Unpretty_ ," Quinn supplies.

"We sounded amazing," Rachel quickly adds.

"Sing it for us!" Annie pleads, and her request is quickly echoed by the other kids.

Rachel laughs, tilting her head toward Quinn. "For old time's sake?"

Quinn is pretty sure this is a bad idea, because aside from the shower and a few unfortunate trips to the karaoke bar, she hasn't really sang much since high school. But her kids are all looking at her eagerly, and she desperately wants to hear Rachel's singing voice again, so she takes a deep breath.

" _I wish I could tie you up in my shoes…_ "

The first few notes are shaky, as Quinn hasn't properly warmed up, but she eases into it. The lyrics flow smoothly from her lips, and muscle memory guides her through the first verse.

When Rachel joins in, she sounds just like Quinn remembers. Her voice is powerful and emotional and fills the room, and Quinn's pretty sure she hears some jaws hit the floor. She tries to keep up as they round into the chorus, but Rachel does what Rachel does best – she accommodates Quinn's voice, doesn't overpower her, and Quinn can't help but think that it's exactly the way Rachel has always navigated her fragile relationship with Quinn. Carefully but courageously. It makes affection swell in Quinn's chest.

By the last chorus, the kids have picked up most of the lyrics and are attempting to sing along, and Quinn smiles at the sight. As the song closes out, Rachel slides her hand over Quinn's on her lap, their fingers loosely interlacing. The touch makes Quinn's voice hitch on the last note.

The standing ovation that they receive from a roomful of seven-year-olds for their performance makes every second worth it. Cheeks hot, Quinn allows herself a tiny bow.

Parents have started arriving to pick up their children, so Quinn calls an end to the class, and the kids begin to scatter.

"You should go," Quinn urges Rachel. "You'll be trapped here handing out autographs otherwise."

Rachel grins. "I don't mind. I have the entire afternoon off."

Quinn nods. "Thanks for coming, Rachel. You were a hit with the kids."

"They're charming, and it was nice to just unwind." Rachel's smile widens. "You know, there's no better way to close out a unit on Broadway than to bring them to see my show."

"Oh, the school can't possibly afford that. I might be able to pay out of pocket, but—"

Rachel shakes her head. "No, I'd take care of all that. Nothing I love more than fostering a love of the arts in young children. My fathers put me in theatre classes before I could even walk. Without my early start, who knows where I might be?"

"I don't think anything could've stopped you from your dream," Quinn says softly, genuinely.

Rachel smiles, humility fleshing out her features. "Maybe."

Driven by a deep-seated attraction and the sudden realization that this is her second – and maybe _only_ – chance, Quinn blurts out, "Go out with me, Rach."

But as fate would have it, one of the parents chooses that exact moment to loudly slip between them, distracting Rachel.

"I'm sorry, Rachel?" the woman rambles. "Hi, I'm a huge fan. Would you spare a moment of your time and sign this? Thank you so much. God bless you."

Quinn's words close back up in her throat, and she shoots Rachel a look as though to say 'told you so,' but Rachel smiles politely and chats with the woman for a few minutes. Quinn, meanwhile, moves to busy herself with tidying up her desk while Rachel addresses the small group that has gathered around her. Quinn's heart doesn't stop pounding in her chest, because _what_ had pushed her to say such a stupid thing?

Rachel is—she doesn't even know if Rachel is single, and she's banking on a high school crush and a song they sang together when they were sixteen? She feels foolish for her moment of utter senselessness, and she only hopes that Rachel hadn't heard her.

After a few more minutes of conversation and autographs, the classroom has finally fully cleared out, and to Quinn's surprise, Rachel closes the door behind them and walks back to Quinn's desk. Instinctively, Quinn takes a step back.

Rachel, expression curious, waits a moment, almost as though expecting something. When Quinn remains silent, Rachel cocks her head to the side.

"Is there something you'd like to ask me?"

Quinn shakes her head. "No, I—" She stumbles, collects herself. She wonders what Rachel has that reduces her to a mumbling idiot when she makes a living out of her confidence and ability to manipulate. "It was nice to see you again, Rachel," she settles for saying.

Rachel's face falls momentarily. "Oh. I thought—"

"Wait." Quinn lets out a breath. If she's going to do this, she has to do it right. "I'd like to take you out to dinner." Good. Classy. "To catch up," her tongue adds automatically, and Quinn nearly slaps herself.

Rachel's expression shifts to one of amusement. "To catch up," she parrots, taking a step closer.

Quinn's entire body feels incredibly warm. She roots her feet in place. "Whatever you want."

Rachel's fingers skim the edge of the blackboard as she continues to take slow steps toward Quinn. She picks up a piece of chalk and comes to a stop a few inches away. Without taking her eyes off Quinn, Rachel starts scribbling something across the chalkboard. Quinn's eyes follow Rachel's movements. It's a phone number, Quinn realizes a few digits in. It's Rachel's personal number.

Rachel drops the chalk when she's done, then picks up a yellow one and draws a five-pointed star at the end.

Her lips curl into a grin. "That's a metaphor." She leans even closer and lowers her voice. "It means you probably won't have to wait until the third date, _Miss Quinn_."

Quinn closes the distance and presses her lips against Rachel's, breathing in a scent that – after all these years – has become unfamiliar but remains comforting. Rachel's fingertips slip across Quinn's cheeks, pressing chalk dust fingerprints into Quinn's skin. Rachel sighs into the kiss, her tongue tracing Quinn's lips, slowly and meticulously exploring.

Without warning, Rachel turns, pressing Quinn back against the edge of her desk hard enough to shake it. Quinn momentarily loses balance, and her hands grope the surface of the desk desperately for balance. Rachel settles between Quinn's legs, hands pressed to her thighs as her tongue dips past parted lips. Quinn hears herself groan, hears the tremor of the desk as Rachel bucks her hips against hers, and oh _god_.

But Rachel pulls away before it has a chance to go too far. She uses the back of her hand to brush away the chalk dust from Quinn's cheek, then, as though physically drawn to Quinn's body, presses a soft, lingering kiss to Quinn's lips.

A smile spreads across Rachel's lips. "Okay," she says breathlessly. "I—okay. What was it that you wanted to do at dinner? Catch up?"

Quinn flushes. "Changed my mind."

Rachel laughs and untangles herself from Quinn. She runs a palm down the front of her shirt to smooth it out, then turns to leave.

"See you, then." She motions at the blackboard. "Please wipe off the number when you're done with it."

Without another word, Rachel picks up her stuff and slips out of the classroom, leaving Quinn to stare breathlessly at the number scribbled across the chalkboard, the memory of Rachel's lips still ghosting across her own.

 

 _fin_


End file.
